


When the Body Speaks

by crimsonsenya



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: M/M, Slash, Weirdness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-22
Updated: 2017-04-22
Packaged: 2018-10-22 18:02:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10702236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsonsenya/pseuds/crimsonsenya
Summary: During the summer, after Spike gets his soul back and Angel is at the bottom of the ocean, a dream joins two lost ones.





	When the Body Speaks

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was originally posted over LJ in 2004. The title comes from a Depeche Mode song from the album Exciter. Betaed by Luka.

**************************************

Back in Sunnyhell again. The town was cursed: if you came once, you would keep coming back. The basement wasn’t that bad. At least, it was dry and had rats in abundance. He dreamt a lot, or hallucinated, but dreaming had a better ring to it, not implying mere insanity.

***************************************

Spike thought his bones were like bird's. His pale skin gleamed silvery light in the dark cave. He had to be a fairy: one of those light, furtive creatures that inhabited the forests and clear-watered springs of the good ol’ England by the time of King Arthur and his valiant knights. His mother used to tell him bedtime stories about them. Spike felt dizzy as he stood up on his shaky feet, and his hand took support on the humid wall of the cave. The fairy approached him. He moved gracefully forward, sliding, or floating more than walking. Spike knew the appearances of fairies were deceiving, they looked young though they were older than the woods they roamed in. How childlike their faces were, nonetheless, they had eyes of an old man, and those eternal eyes wordlessly told tales about times long gone and ancient worlds of sun, wind, and willow trees. 

This fairy’s eyes were blue like the waves that struck against the white cliffs of Dover. Spike was certain that some Power that Be above had taken pity on him and commanded this heaven sent being to descent down to him, to take his hand and lead him out of the underworld. Maybe, he was the young Dionysus himself, the god of wine and exuberance. He was the only one Spike had ever worshipped. 

Dru would have declared that the stars cried of joy that night, when he licked the sweat on the fairy’s stomach to wet his dry throat and chapped lips. The fairy laid his hand on his chest, right upon his burning spark. The fairy didn’t need explanations: he understood silence, he understood darkness, and he understood pain. How such a creature of brightness could comprehend the lowest pits of hell was a mystery to Spike, but it didn’t matter. What was important was his warmth surrounding him, the full length of his body on him, and the beat of the heart Spike heard. It set the rhythm to the whole universe, to the circle of life –the birth, the growth, the decay, the death, and the resurrection– where also Spike belonged, when he thrust inside the all-consuming body of this young demigod. 

The long, sophisticated fingers soothed, caressed, and stroked Spike, as nails carved enchantments deep on his skin. His fairy was every living creature at once: he had the lithe body of a snake, hair of feathers, lips of a harlot, touch of a virgin. And Spike, he had been utterly lost, but he was finally home. He had been completely hollow, but was know filled. He had been less than half of a man, but now he had ascended higher than gods. He was whole.

************************************

Connor walked in a cemetery. In this world, men built better houses for the dead than the living in Quortoth ever saw while they lived. And the dead lay inside their coffins like that beast lay at the bottom of the sea. He held his favourite axe in his hand, the one that Gunn always made him clean after the fights. He met a few vampires that he dusted off easily, the Fyarl demon was a little harder to grind down, but he didn't even break a sweat. At least, not like he sweated every night in his bed listening to Fred and Gunn fornicating like animals in heat. Back in Quortoth, his father had explained it all to him and how sinful it was… 

But Connor couldn’t help his body take over his mind, and he couldn’t but watch, how a certain part of his body throbbed and grew. He bit the pillow so hard he pierced it, a detail that utterly enraged him as it reminded him of his maker. He had to sneak out of the hotel and run on the streets until he found something to kill. As soon as his fist struck through a demon’s chest or chopped off the head of a recently fed vampire and the blood sprinkled all over him, he felt his hardness burst into an uncomfortable wetness, and he saw bright sparks behind his eyelids. His whole body trembled still, when he run back to the hotel. 

*************************************

What was the sandy beach doing in a graveyard? And why did the waves shine so crimson against the shred cliffs, sharp as fangs, and the golden blazing sky? Connor clutched his axe and turned back to the crypts. One of them was alight, and the wooden door hung open. He descended the stairs he found inside into a long, dark tunnel, but his nose was the only torch he needed. His father had taught him that a long time ago. This cave was different from the ones in Quortoth, its floor was filled with the small insects called cockroaches. He had seen them at the Hyperion too, and he remembered, how much Fred hated them. 

At the end of the tunnel, in a wide, grim cave almost at the gates of Gehenna, there stands a tall, totem-like, glowy-eyed creature, who holds the power in his claw-fingered hands. Here Connor is looking for the part of him that lies on the muddy ground, the part of darkness, rage, bitterness and hope –it is his soul that lives inside here. Connor needs to save himself. He needs to love this fragment to avenge his father’s death on all of them and to draw enough strength to fight what he doesn’t want to become. Connor takes down the warriors of flaming fists, and arrives to his soul: coiled on the ground, it’s been torn and ripped, but an amber light still lingers on it. 

****************************

Connor touches the chest right on the spot, where their soul inhabits. He flinches under his touch, looking away from the light Connor knows he is shedding on him. Oh, he can feel it too. The soul, it is what they share. He can’t see it yet, but Connor’s light is his too. Out in the dark plain, under the sweet angel tears dripping from the hallowed night sky, the long grass brushes harshly their bare bodies. Somewhere nearby, the hyenas laugh looking for prey. Tonight, they are neither hunters or hunted: they rest, they feed on each other’s flesh, drink from each other’s deepest desires, feast on their strongest needs. 

Connor had never thought such merging into someone was possible: limbs, hair, tongues tangled, being filled from both the back and the front in turn, having his mouth full of another’s intoxicating taste of earth, scent of musk, and throbbing primal force, letting himself go into another, not a drop of him wasted. Connor felt the ground shake underneath them, coming again and again, the sun blackened, and the moon turned blood red in want and release, and their howls swirled above the dry land and echoed back from the hills in the distance.

***************************

Connor woke up in his bed gasping and panting, his heart beat so hard in his chest he was sure Fred and Gunn would hear it. The sweaty sheets wrapped him all over, and he could feel his own wetness sliding down his thighs. He needed desperately to clean up. Could he see a flicker of gold in his eyes from the steamy bathroom mirror? “Lust comes from the Deceiver.” His father always said. “You must flee evil.” But how could his soul be evil? Now, he felt prepared to keep on with his vengeance in case the beast was to rise up from the bottom of the sea. “No, I’m not evil.” His soul whispered back. “I’m you, ‘m I not?”


End file.
